


Barely Contained

by tinktheloser



Series: Percy Hawke [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-05
Updated: 2016-11-05
Packaged: 2018-08-29 04:08:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8474791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinktheloser/pseuds/tinktheloser
Summary: Hawke has too much magic, Fenris suspects demons. They don't often have arguments, but this one revealed more than Fenris expected.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sacrificing sleep so I can finish this but it needed to be written dammit. I have no idea if it's coherent, and I was definitely bullshitting some headcanons about magic but. There you have it. My custom Hawke, Percy, has a lot of issues and excess magic is one of them, so of course I had to figure out how Fenris fit in the picture. 
> 
> Set in Act One, not too long before the Deep Roads

Hawke was crouching next to the corpse of the blood mage she’d just killed, rifling through his pockets for spare coin or perhaps something to indicate his allegiances. Fenris hovered nearby, turning over bodies of bandits that had allied themselves with the blood mage. He was clenching and unclenching his hands, trying his utmost to stave off the tension pooling in his muscles.

It had been a simple request from Aveline. There were new recruits that would make their first patrol on the Wounded Coast later that day, and she’d asked Hawke to sniff out any bandits that might be more than a fresh recruit could handle. Hawke had asked only Fenris to join her, saying something about an easy job that she didn’t want to bother Varric or Isabela with. He didn’t ask about Anders or Merril, not exactly trusting of them enough to bother. Though he did find himself wondering why Hawke, a mage, preferred the company of rogues and warriors to the other mages of her—their—group.

Fenris shook his head. Regardless, it was foolish to go bandit hunting with only the two of them, even if they hadn’t expected the blood mage to turn up.

“Looks like he was in the slaving business,” Hawke said. She was reading a note she must have found on the corpse. “Wonderful. Aveline will want to see this.”

Fenris scowled. “Somehow, I do not find myself surprised.”

Hawke looked over her shoulder to give him a considering look. She must have heard the irritation in his voice.

“Hmm, yes,” she drawled, turning back to the mage. “Blood magic and enslaving the helpless _do_ seem to go hand in hand. I should ask Merril if she’s interested in owning people.” She folded the note and tucked it into one of her many pouches.

Fenris kicked the corpse he’d been searching. “This isn’t a joke, Hawke.”

Hawke sighed. “No, it’s not.” She stood up and brushed herself off. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“But it’s not wrong, is it?” Fenris glowered. “It’s always the same.”

Hawke turned at that, fixing him with a frown. Fenris wanted to scoff. It was like she didn’t know, like she was pretending not to realize just how easy it was to turn onto that dark path. He’d been watching her carefully, and saw how she sometimes struggled with _something_ after every battle, or anytime something even remotely displeased her.

Like with the blood mage just now. When he’d first met Hawke, she’d never had trouble recovering her magic. But after she’d killed the mage, it had taken her several moments of simple breathing to steady herself and clear the air of her crackling lightning magic.

He’d seen it before, but he hadn’t thought that _Hawke_ would be one to start showing signs of succumbing to the influence of demons.

“If you have something to say, Fenris, by all means, say it,” Hawke said, leveling his glare with her own steady gaze. She still appeared confused, but was bracing herself.

Somehow, that just fueled the itching heat in his chest.

“A mage walks free, turns to blood magic, and feels the need to exercise control on the weaker. I’ve seen it more than a few times.” He found a coin purse in one of the bandit’s satchels and wrenched it out.

Fenris wasn’t even all too sure why he was getting so angry. Perhaps it was fear that Hawke _would_ eventually succumb, to follow the same path of the magisters. Even as she held fast against the blood mages she came across, she’d one day become curious, and then latch on to the power offered to her by a demon. He’d seen it, again and again, and quite frankly was tired of watching the weak having their own autonomy taken from them.

Fenris didn’t like being afraid, was exhausted from feeling fear, so he decided to be angry instead.

Hawke glanced at the dead blood mage before looking back at him. From her frown, he guessed that she knew who this was about, and it wasn’t blood mages in general.

“So, what, no mage can resist the allure?” she asked, her voice quiet but clipped.

Fenris looked at the corpse as well, pointedly.

“Not that I’ve seen,” he replied stiffly.

Hawke sucked in a breath, then ran a hand through her hair. There was a tingle of her magic in the air.

Good, he thought.

“What do you want from me, Fenris?” she asked. “Take preventative measures like, I don’t know, turn myself in to the Templars? Clap myself in irons for the Gallows? Oh, how about I ask for Tranquility? The only safe mage is a subdued one, right?”

Fenris’ nostrils flared. “I want you to realize that mages are inherently dangerous,” he said. “That magic, be it yours or someone else’s, always ends up hurting someone.”

Hawke raised her hands, palms up, in a confused gesture. “What brought this on, Fenris?” she asked incredulously. “Have I done something to hurt you? If I have, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have speak a little more plainly—”

“You think I haven’t noticed, have you?” Fenris interrupted. He couldn’t believe she was pretending not to know. “How difficult it’s become to control yourself, like just now. You can barely contain your magic anymore.”

Hawke was staring at him, her jaw clenched and brow furrowed. Then, she huffed.

“You honestly believe I don’t know?” she asked. “That magic is dangerous? Look, I don’t know your experiences, I don’t know what the magisters in Tevinter are like, but _Maker_ , Fenris, could you give me some bloody credit?”

“For what?” Fenris sneered. “Not using your magic to control the weak? Simply holding yourself back doesn’t earn you a medal, Hawke.”

Hawke jerked her head back to look at him, her eyes flashing.

“You know, I get that magisters tend to be the bottom of the barrel when it comes to morals,” she snapped. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t spit on _my_ experiences. You don’t know a damned thing about me _or_ my magic, so _kindly_ stop pretending you do.”

She was lashing out now, but appeared to be keeping a tight grip on her magic. If Fenris hadn’t been enraged by her statement, he might have been impressed.

“No, I don’t know a thing about you,” Fenris spat. His fists were clenching in his gauntlets, itching to do _something_. “But I do know what to look for when a mage starts allowing _demons_ to influence their magic. I’d thought you were better than that, but clearly I was mistaken.”

Hawke blinked, her jaw dropping. “ _What?_ ”

“If you think I’m going to stand by—”

“No, Fenris, _stop_.” Hawke raised her hands and pinned him with an incredulous look. “You think I’m consorting with _demons?_ ”

Fenris frowned. “Whether intentionally or not, I know the signs.”

“And just what are the signs?”

Fenris made a vague gesture to the battlefield of corpses. “After a mage allows demonic influence,” he explained impatiently. “They first lose control of their own magic, especially when angered or distraught. The more powerful of the magisters can exercise some control over it, but they’re still _influenced_. The weaker ones can’t control themselves at all. So, the demon would take charge of their magic for them.”

Hawke had the decency to pale. “And they become an abomination,” she finished.

Fenris said nothing.

Hawke turned away, running a hand through her hair and taking a deep breath.

“Well,” she said, after a moment. “You’ll be happy to know that no, I _haven’t_ been consorting with demons. I just—Maker, you really don’t know, do you.”

Fenris opened his mouth to speak, but paused. Had he been wrong?

“You’ve experienced the worst of mages,” Hawke continued. “So I can’t hold it against you for expecting the worst from me.” She sat down on a boulder jutting up from the ground. “But you’re not a mage. Do you—do you want to me to explain myself or are you determined to stay angry at me?”

Fenris pursed his lips, skeptical, but nodded. He crossed his arms and waited for her to continue.

“Okay so,” she started, making vague gestures with her hands. “Yes, I’ve been having trouble with my magic. But I promise, it’s not what you think. Most mages have a relatively small amount of magic, and they can contain it within themselves. Bethany—her magic was like a stream, gently flowing inside her. She never had a problem with control.”

Hawke paused then, her shoulders dropping the slightest amount. She’d told Fenris about Bethany, and how she’d died. It appeared to be playing in Hawke’s mind again.

“But there are some mages that have an—an excess amount of magic,” Hawke went on, recovering quickly. “Did you ever meet a magister that just seemed to be overflowing with magic? And it seemed to just saturate the air?”

Fenris nodded. He had, once, but he wouldn’t tell her that he’d been ordered to kill that specific magister. Danarius never liked a show off.

Hawke looked at her hands. “I was born with too much magic,” she said quietly. “My father was going to teach me how to control it properly, but he died before we could finish my lessons.”

Fenris frowned. He’d never heard of a mage with too much magic, simply ones with more than others.

“And to make matters worse,” Hawke continued, her voice becoming bitter. “My magic is attuned to my emotions. I can’t allow myself to _feel_ anything. It’s like—it’s like I’m holding back my own flood and drowning in it.”

“And your recent struggling?” Fenris asked, inclining his head.

Hawke sighed. “I haven’t let loose in a long time,” she said. “I can’t, really, when I live in a crowded city full of Templars.”

_Let loose?_

“Show me.”

Hawke looked up, her brow raised high. “Pardon?”

Fenris leveled her gaze. “Show me what you have to hold back.”

She stared at him for a long, quiet moment. “Are you sure?” she asked, hesitantly. “I could hurt you.”

“Whatever you have, I’ve probably felt worse.”

Hawke actually _snorted_. Then, she said, “Not here. The city is still in view.”

Fenris glanced towards Kirkwall. It was several miles away, and he doubted they’d be spotted all the way over here. But he nodded anyway, and Hawke stood to gather the rest of her gear.

They made a short trek around the cliffs. The coast consisted of one small mountain, which was likely more of a hill than anything. Hawke led him on the other side of it, hidden away from the eyes of Kirkwall. The dirt was cool under his feet, the heat seeping away in the shadow of the hill. They were going downhill, towards the lowest points of the coast. Fenris hid his nerves behind his usual scowl. Just how much magic did Hawke possess that she could only let loose in the most remote, cut-off locations?

Finally, Hawke stopped. She looked around for a moment. The hill curved around them, forming a cove safely tucked away from sight. She nodded in approval before turning to him.

“You’ll want to step back,” she said even as she was moving backwards.

Fenris obliged, stepping away just a little, and then gave her an expectant look. She removed her staff from the strap on her back and, to his surprise, set it on the ground before her.

Hawke looked up. “You’ll tell me if it gets too much?”

Fenris blinked, but nodded.

Hawke appeared to hesitate for a moment, but then she closed her eyes and breathed. She breathed, and breathed again.

Then, Fenris was nearly knocked off his feet.

The air cracked as he was buffeted by an unseen force that _swept_ through the cove. His lyrium glimmered in response, and he hissed at the sharp tingle that was dancing along the tattoos. He forced himself to look up, to see Hawke, and he gaped.

She was the center of a storm. Her hair whipped around in an unnatural wind, her skin alight with the pulses of electricity that snapped about her. But her eyes stayed closed, her jaw clenched in concentration. Streaks of lightning flashed around the clearing. Fenris lay his ears flat against his skull and braced himself against the sheer force of her magic.

But he remained silent. He felt he needed to fully experience this if he wished to know, to _understand_. He’d been so mistaken, he owed this to her.

Still, it was getting difficult to bear when his tattoos began to burn too bright.

Hawke had been right about the magic saturating the air. It filled every nook and cranny of the cove, rising into the sky above them. He felt it cling to his skin like static, and he resisted the urge to brush it off for fear it would literally shock him.

When Fenris suddenly felt dizzy, he realized he was having trouble even breathing in the air. He squeezed his eyes shut.

“Enough,” he managed to grit out.

The magic clinging to his skin disappeared, and the charged air immediately quieted. Fenris opened his eyes again to see Hawke examining him, concern furrowing her brow.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Fenris nodded, even as he swayed a little. He needed to sit down.

Hawke was at his side in an instant, careful not to touch him but managing to guide him to an outcropping rock. He sat down and rested his elbows on his knees. Hawke sat close by, but far enough away to give him space.

When Fenris had caught his breath, he spoke. “I apologize. I assumed when I shouldn’t have.”

Hawke peered at him, a grin tugging at her lips. “Somehow I think I can forgive you.”

He snorted, but then quieted. “How do you do it, then?” he asked. “Control that much magic?”

Hawke considered her answer for a long moment. “You know,” she said eventually. “I doubt it’s the healthiest method, but clamping down on my emotions seems to work alright. Sarcasm hides everything and all that. Mother and Carver don’t really approve, but, well.” She shrugged. “It’s the best I’ve got.”

Fenris nodded. “I see.”

Then Hawke was looking at him, peering at him with something almost wistful.

“I know it’s stupid,” she said softly. “But I sometimes envy you. Not your experiences, of course,” she added at his deadpan look. “But. You can allow yourself to be angry. Maybe not before, but now? If something pisses you off, you let yourself feel it.”

Fenris was quiet. In Seheron, he only felt when Danarius wanted him to feel. He was no stranger to repressing his thoughts and emotions. But freedom had granted him many things, including his right and autonomy to _feel._

Hawke, he realized, didn’t have that freedom. The thought made him ache, strangely.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

Hawke sighed. “It’s alright,” she replied. “I hear bad jokes are a good coping mechanism.”

Fenris snorted. Then, a thought occurred to him.

“Does this help?” he asked, gesturing to the cove.

“Sure, when I do it often enough.”

“Then, if you prefer, I can accompany you here when you need it.”

Hawke frowned. “Fenris, you don’t have to do that.”

He shook his head. “It will allow me to become accustomed to your magic,” he explained. “And, if it helps with your control, then it would be safer for everyone else.”

Hawke bit her lip, but appeared thoughtful.

“I’ll consider it,” she said after a moment. “It’s not a bad idea though. I just—are you sure? Your markings didn’t bother you too much?”

Fenris shrugged. “They always bother me. This isn’t too different.”

Hawke looked like she wanted to protest, but he waved her off. “I promise, it’s alright,” he said. “With time, your magic won’t bother me at all.”

Somehow, _that_ was what cheered her up.

The walk back to Kirkwall was slow, and they passed the recruits on the way. Hawke gave them an obnoxious salute as they looked nervously at each other, but they moved on with grace.

It would be interesting, Fenris thought as Hawke babbled about going to the Hanged Man, but perhaps working with Hawke wouldn’t be so bad. Even if she was a mage.

**Author's Note:**

> personally i think Fenris talked way too much for his character but i think i did okay, considering it's just him and Hawke. let me know if i made any mistakes, i didn't really revise this much.


End file.
